summary: when your brother’s teammate, oscar, decides to rage bait him by hitting on you, it actually turns into something else entirely (or maybe that was his plan all along) but he may or may not (he definitely) fucks it up
face claim: ruby lyn & random pinterest baddies
author’s note: shoutout to my fav @piastreline for hyping me up while making this!!! hope it lives up to your expectations loool
ynnorris
♡ liked by lando, oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux and others
ynnorris trench coat buttoned to the TOP
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piastreline and these ballerina ass slippers. what’s going on?
lando why are you so performative
⤷ ynnorris why are you so bitchless
oscarpiastri cute cat 👍🏻
⤷ ynnorris thanks 👍🏻
⤷ lando delete this
oliviarodrigo only brit i like
⤷ louispartridge_ ???
user67 im sensing oscar has a little crush…
⤷ user5 how did you even reach that conclusion
⤷ user67 trust me on this guys
⤷ user14 you’re DELUSIONAL
oscarpiastri
♡ liked by lando, mclaren, ynnorris and others
oscarpiastri mega weekend 👊 big thanks to the papaya team and a special someone who was there to support me today
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lando what. who?
⤷ ynnorris why? scared someone will steal your boyfriend?
charles_leclerc great job son
⤷ ynnorris why would you not censor j*b 😕
user67 wait… yn was at the gp today…
⤷ user9 ohmygod be serious rn she was there for her brother
⤷ user67 no HEAR ME OUT
ynnorris do you have a mirror in your pocket? because i can see myself in your pants
♡ liked by oscarpiastri
⤷ lando ????????????????????
oscarpiastri
♫ · you might be sleeping - jakob, clairo
♡ liked by oscarfan5, mclaren, ynnorris and others
oscarpiastri very much needed break
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mclaren recharging
lando is that my sister you PEDO
⤷ oscarpiastri she’s a year younger than me…
⤷ lando damn right PEDO
user8 ohmygod? aesthetically pleasing post? clairo? he’s in DEEP
ynfan1 IS THAT YN IN SLIDE THREE HELLO???
⤷ ynosctruther right like is this a soft launch???
⤷ partypooper maybe they’re just friends lol
oscarslefttoe i’m shaking this is too couple coded
ynnorris these shorts don’t look good on you… they’d look better on my bedroom floor looooool 🫦
⤷ oscarpiastri fair
⤷ lando WHAT THE FUCK
⤷ norrisfan7 oh i just know the pr team hates her
⤷ ynnorris THEY CANT STOP ME HEHE
user67 need them to kiss rn
ynnorris
♡ liked by oscarpiastri, iheartynosc, user67 and others
ynnorris guys chill im just doing charity work (teaching him how to dress)
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oscarpiastri i dress fine actually
⤷ ynnorris no you don’t
⤷ oscarpiastri no i don’t…
user67 TEACHING HIM HOW TO DRESS IS GF BEHAVIOR SORRY
piastriluv the last slide … she’s leaning into him??? guys hello.
lando im blocking you both
⤷ ynnorris love you too big bro
ynlover you two look like the couple that argues in ikea and then kiss in the parking lot
⤷ ynnorris …maybe
oscarfan89 they are either deeply in love or deeply unserious no inbetween
user14 oscar loves women who bully him confirmed
iloveop81 oscar blink twice if she’s holding you hostage in a thrift store
f1gossip
♡ liked by user19, ihateynnorris, oscarfumbleastri and others
f1gossip “GOD NO”? 👀🔥
Oscar Piastri shuts rumors down hard when asked if he and Y/N Norris are dating and fans are LOSING it. In a new paddock interview, Piastri responded to a question about his rumored relationship with Y/N with a quick: “God, no… me and Y/N? No. I don’t see her like that at all.” No clarification. No “we’re just close friends”. Just straight rejection or was it?? Clips are going viral, with some fans calling his response cold, while others argue he was simply trying to shut down speculation. What do you think? Was this: A) just poor wording, B) a public rejection, or C) something he’ll regret later?
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user81 bro could’ve said ANYTHING else
user7 imagine hearing the guy you like react like that… yikes
norrishearts 🚨🚨 fumble of the century
oscarmidasstri that was unnecessarily harsh wtf
user2 did he just call her undateable?
user56 he didn’t mean it like that
⤷ user65 then he shouldn’t have said it like that
iluvyn wtf? y/n is literally an angel
landonorizz i just know lando is going to bury him alive
user67 oh
⤷ user99 it’s so bad we’re even losing user67
unfollow oscarpiastri | cancel
ynnorris
♫ · all i wanted - paramore
♡ liked by lando, alexandrasaintmleux, 18lovers and others
ynnorris reconnecting with nature after whatever the frick that was…
ynnorris has turned comments off on this post
f1gossip
♡ liked by ynosc4ever, user67, ilovecillianmurphysobad and others
f1gossip Well… that escalated quickly. 👀 After THAT interview, Oscar Piastri and Y/N Norris were spotted meeting last night — first seen talking quietly while walking, then caught kissing on the street shortly after. No statements have been made by either party yet, but we’re pretty sure actions speak louder than podcasts, interviews, and PR teams. Enemies to lovers?Miscommunication to makeout? What chapter are we in??? 🫣🔥
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user70 I WAS JUST RECOVERING FROM THE INTERVIEW WHAT
random3 i bet lando is somewhere punching a wall rn
⤷ user67 he’s quitting to start his very own matchmaking business actually
loveyn if he apologized like that i’d forgive too tbf
user69 imagine going to make up and then that happens on the street im screaming
ynoscfan3 i love communication
⤷ oscarsimpastri that wasn’t communication that was desperation in 4K
georgerussell63 fav romcom
user67 WE ARE SOOOOO BACK
ynnorris
♫ · crush - ethel cain
♡ liked by oscarpiastri, lando, mothercain and others
ynnorris make up… make out… same thing…
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oscarpiastri i prefer the latter
⤷ ynnorris who?
⤷ oscarpiastri me
⤷ ynnorris asked 🤣🤣
lando FINALLY
⤷ lando wait wrong acc
⤷ user67 FINALLY
ethelcainlover22 ethelcainlover22
⤷ ynnorris marry me
⤷ oscarpiastri ?????
user7 he is down bad
papayagirl everybody act surprised
oscarfan8 yk oscar is a dog person.. are you gonna get a dog too?
⤷ ynnorris my cat is like oh no no no we’re not getting a dog don’t even thing about it girl
you've been charmed, a collab hosted by piastreline and 2reverse ᯓ★
CHARM. RELEASED BY CLAIRO ON JULY 12TH 2024. NOW, IT’S COMING BACK AROUND (AS LUCK SO OFTEN DOES) IN ELEVEN DIFFERENT FICS, PERFORMED BY SEVEN DIFFERENT ARTISTS. INCLUDING FEATURES FROM OP81, LN4, CS55 AND OTHERS. THERE IS NO TIMELINE FOR THIS COLLABORATION- THIS MASTERLIST WILL BE UPDATED ACCORDINGLY!! FIND FICS UNDER THE TAG #CHARM☘️
𝒯rack one: ‘NOMAD’
performed by @piastreline . feat. bender!op81, aa23, ln4, cl16, gr63 and others! nomad, aka the ATLA au. where being a nomad goes from a freedom to a survival tactic, and you have to choose between the rest of the world, or your own selfish want, or to keep running. eventually, if you run for long enough, you end up in a circle. but who are you going to keep running back to? the family you’ve built, the man you’re growing to love or the boy who makes your heart burn a little?
𝒯rack two: ‘SEXY TO SOMEONE’
performed by @papayainsectorone. feat. richboy!lando x streamer reader, who just wants to be wanted. it’s about learning the difference between being watched and being known. like quiet longing, guilt, tenderness, late-night phone calls, and two people trying to make something real out of something meant to be performative. 🔞!! inspired by @/eiightyone
𝒯rack three: ‘SECOND NATURE’
performed by @2reverse feat. college student!oscar piastri. you have spent years one-upping each other, trading top grades and barbed comments like it’s second nature. when a professor pairs you together for a semester-long presentation, the line between rivalry and something softer begins to blur. between late-night study sessions, shared coffees, and arguments that end with lingering looks instead of slammed doors, the tension shifts from competition to something neither of you can name.
𝒯rack four: ‘SLOW DANCE’
performed by @piastreline . feat. lord!hadjar and you, the diamond of the season. you’re not a good fit, you’ve had arguments practically since birth, but for some reason his name is still filling your card, and all you seem to do is slow dance. there’s something subtle in the way bickering shifts to something a little more meaningful. bridgerton au!
𝒯rack five: ‘THANK YOU’
PART ONE. PART TWO.
performed by @starry-132173. feat oscar piastri. you meet in a foreign country, and a feeling sparks between you, something new and exciting. but, among the warmth it gives you, there's a cold and cruel constant reminder that this is temporary. you ignore it, and you two drown in something undefined for so long your lungs get used to it. yet the fact that it was worth it doesn't make it hurt any less when it ends. a year after you left each other, you find that your lungs still yearn for the water.
𝒯rack six: ‘TERRAPIN’
performed by @2reverse. feat. ollie bearman. “the car hums softly beneath the night sky, windows down, salty air rushing in as the coastline comes into view. you’ve done this drive a hundred times before, but something about tonight feels different.” tipsy and tangled in nostalgia, it’s easy to forget where friendship ends and something else quietly begins.
𝒯rack seven: ‘JUNA’
performed by @on-my-contrarian-sh1t. feat. carlos sainz. when williams gets a new photographer mid-season, carlos sainz can’t help but be skeptical. after meeting you, he falls completely in love yet still, he can’t help but wonder if your photography skills are up to par – or at least, if you can keep up. however, after he sees a candid photo you had taken of him, he realizes that your skills are far more than “up to par.”
𝒯rack eight: ‘ADD UP MY LOVE’
performed by @hellohaas. feat. oscar piastri. after a brutal fight leaves oscar with severe amnesia, he wakes up remembering only one person: you. stunned by the years lost and the man he has become, you step into the difficult role of caretaker, haunted by the small moments you used to share—his laugh, his touch, the way he said your name. Both of you wrestle with a painful question: was all the love you had ever enough to hold him together?
𝒯rack nine: ‘ECHO’
performed by @aajxs. feat. lando norris. between sworn secrecy and distance separating you and the man you've loved since you learned how, sometimes you wonder if it's even worth it anymore — to keep up with the facade that comes with dating a famous man as a woman who lives based on the cookie cutter. But, when push comes to shove, lando always seems to pull through and remind you of all the reasons why you stay.
𝒯rack ten: ‘GLORY OF THE SNOW’
performed by @2reverse. feat. pianist!charles, who finds himself haunted by melodies that sound too much like you, the singer with the voice that once anchored his music. months after their quiet breakup, charles plays through a composition you inspired, only now realizing that sometimes, love doesn’t need to last to mean something; it just needs to have existed.
𝒯rack eleven: ‘PIER 4’
performed by @piastreline . feat. oscar piastri and race engineer!reader. where mclaren doesn’t quite feel like home for either of you, but at least you have eachother. until lines blur, feelings are hurt and professionalism weighs over your heads. is there actually something there worth fighting for, even if it means losing so much?
𝐵onus 𝒯racks:
still just lyrics, scrawled on napkins. come back later! please feel free to message me if you have any songs you’d like to perform :,)
Summary: you and oscar have always been inseparable despite being different, but when feelings get a little complicated he says somethings he doesn’t really mean.
Tropes: best friends to lovers, slight angst (smau & written)
youruser
Liked by oscarpiastri, vanilllamace, alexconsani and 67,420 others
youruser i don’t have blue hair anymore but there was once a time…
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user1 insert spongebob licking video
user2 how did oscar pull a baddie?
user3 i wanna be her
user4 are you my therapist? because im in love with you..
It had always been like this. As far as Oscar could remember, people around you two always said something along the lines of “she’s so cool” or would wonder how on earth you two were so close, inseparable even.
It wasn’t like Oscar wasn’t interesting; that couldn’t be further from the truth. Aside from being a prodigy in his sport he had so many more interesting things about him but he was quiet, calm and collected so people rarely got to truly see him, unless he trusted them enough to. And people, as always, only ever formed opinions based on surface level assumptions about others.
Even now though, without any crazy, head turning hair colour you still found a way to catch people’s interest. It wasn’t like you ever had to try anyway.
He didn’t mind that people fussed over you per se, what got to him was the fact that they thought they knew you, that they could be better friends than him. At first he didn’t get why it bothered him so much. Hell, he didn’t really understand later either until he fucked it up. Until it was too late.
youruser
Liked by oscarpiastri, lando, lilymhe and 99,999 others
youruser don’t be fooled he is actually evil #ihateoscarpiastri #heisNOTmybff
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user1 not your bff cuz he is your bf duh
youruser 🤢
lando good to see u again mate
user2 flash sale!! clothes 100% off!
user3 a tear rolled down my leg
user4 why does Oscar never comment when she’s literally his best friend
user5 since when does commenting on social media posts prove friendships? go touch grass
Silverstone.
That’s were it all went downhill.
The paddock was buzzing, the kind of chaotic hum that usually soothed Oscar before a race. Today, though, it only made him more anxious, or rather more angry. Because there you were, laughing with one of the Red Bull drivers—Yuki to be exact—like you’d known him forever.
When you spotted Oscar, your face lit up. “There you are! I was loo—”
“Do you ever stop?” he snapped.
Your smile dropped. Instantly. “Stop what?”
“Collecting friends like…like it’s a competition,” he said, arms stiffly folded. “You talk to everyone like they’re your new best mate. Does it even matter if I’m around anymore?”
Your mouth parted in shock. You couldn’t believe what you’d just heard. “Are you serious right now?”
“Yes, I’m serious!” The words came out louder than he meant, but he couldn’t stop. “Every time I look up, you’re off with someone else: drivers, engineers, anyone who gives you five seconds. And I’m just—what? The guy you drag along because you feel sorry for him?”
“Don’t you dare. You’re my best friend, Oscar. What the hell is this about?” This was definitely a nightmare. If you pinched yourself hard enough just to— well no. This was really happening.
His chest heaved. He wanted to tell you it was nothing, that he was just tired, but he couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“It’s about the fact that maybe I’m not enough for you anymore. Maybe you’ll find someone funnier, smarter, cooler—and I’ll just be the boring one you used to hang out with.”
“That’s not fair. You think I’d just replace you?” You couldn’t believe what was happening.
“You’d do anything for attention” That was it. He didn’t believe that, not ever. But he was so mad—so hurt—it just slipped out. He couldn’t take it back though; it was too late.
Oh how he wished he dropped dead when tears started forming in your eyes. And when you turned around to leave? That’s when he realised. He didn’t love you as a friend. He’s always wanted more.
youruser
Liked by soggyrice3, lando, theoneandonlykatieb and 80,210 others
youruser rewatching the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind and drinking espresso martinis no one hmu!!!
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user1 gorgeous
user2 oscar’s not even in the likes now? he used to like all of her posts within seconds…
theoneandonlykatieb you wanna kick it in my pimped out Chevrolet ?
user3 hm.. did u guys see the gossip pages?
youruser has turned off comments
You don’t see him again. Not for a couple weeks at least.
It was Lando who invited you at some party he was hosting. You declined at first. Not only he (who shall not be named) would be there but it would also add fuel to his insecurities about you replacing him and, as much as you were hurting, you hated the fact that he felt that way.
After an unbearable time of awkwardness, you decided that the cool night air outside was the relief you needed. You stepped out onto the balcony, lighter in hand, the cigarette—a habit you swore you quit long ago—trembling slightly between your fingers. Your chest ached with the sharp echo of Oscar’s words from weeks ago; seeing him again definitely didn’t help.
You lit it up, pulling hard, hoping the smoke would drown out the pit in you stomach. But it didn’t.
The door opened behind you. You didn’t even have to turn to know it was him.
“I don’t want to fight right now,” was all you could manage, exhaling toward the streetlights below.
“I know,” Oscar said quietly. He lingered in the doorway, as if afraid to come closer. “But I can’t just…not say anything.”
You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “That’s funny. You’ve barely said a word to me all night.”
“I didn’t know how,” he admitted. His voice cracked slightly, and when you glanced at him, he looked wrecked. “I’ve been such an idiot.”
“Yeah,” you said quickly. Harshly. “You made me feel like I wasn’t enough. Like everything I did was wrong.”
Oscar swallowed, stepping out onto the balcony, the city lights throwing shadows across his face. “I didn’t mean that. I swear I didn’t. I just—every time I see you with someone else, I feel like I’m losing you. It scares me. Because I care. Too much.”
You froze, the smoke curling slowly from your lips. “You—what do you mean ‘too much’?”
His eyes, desperate and unguarded, looked up to find yours. “I love you. I didn’t realize it at first, but I do. And I hate that I let my jealousy make you think you weren’t enough, when the truth is—you’re not my just my friend, or my best friend, you’re everything. You always have been. I’m stupid for only realising it once I had hurt you.”
Your breath hitched. You tried to hold onto the anger but it slipped right through you fingers. “You’re an idiot,” you whispered, your eyes watering. “Because I’ve been in love with you too. And I thought I was losing you.”
For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then Oscar stepped closer, gently plucking the cigarette from your fingers—god, he hated when you smoked—and setting it on the railing. His hand found yours, trembling.
“Can I?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
You nodded. “Please.”
And when finally his lips met yours the ache in your chests finally eased, replaced by the dizzying relief of everything the two of you had always been too afraid to say.
Summary: you have spent years one-upping each other, trading top grades and barbed comments like it’s second nature. when a professor pairs you together for a two semester-long presentation, the line between rivalry and something softer begins to blur. between late-night study sessions, shared coffees, and arguments that end with lingering looks instead of slammed doors, the tension shifts from competition to something neither of you can name.
Word count: around 8k
Author’s note: hi guys I found some free time to write are you proud... BY THE WAY!!! i know nothing about stem related courses let alone aerospace fucking engineering so bare with me and my poorly conducted google research... i kindaaaa hate this idk i had such high expectations and this feels kinda rushed but oh well. huge thank you to my fav @viapartridge for motivating me to write this and also initiating this charming collab!!! love you
“You can dislike things, but hate is a strong word” your mother told you every time you declared you hated something as a child. You always argued back, even if it felt pointless; you’ve never been someone who goes down without a fight. Maybe a bit headstrong, but that’s besides the point.
Hate is a strong word, yet it’s perfect for describing Oscar Piastri.
He is conceited, snobbish, stuck-up and so fucking annoying in a way that competes with nails scratching against blackboard. Ever since your first year of university, he has managed to out-score you in almost every major assignment in whatever class you two happen to share. At first you had tried to let it go, you really had, but when he had the audacity to laugh with that condescending grin you so want to smack off his face, the first time you had beat him, you swore that you would get as petty and competitive as possible.
You always dread the release of midterm marks more than the actual midterm because you almost always have to stifle your groan since his grade is almost always above yours. He's such a smug, arrogant bastard. Not to mention he always acts like he's superior. Almost always unfazed and indifferent; it seems like the only time he actually acts normal is to annoy you. And his fashion choices? Even worse.
So when you have to spend your whole senior year working with him on a project worth almost half of your final grade, you think you might prefer to gouge your eyes out with a fork than endure this nonsense.
You should’ve known from the way the projector flickered before the lecture even began. Bad omen. First week of term, too early for disasters, and yet the professor’s voice has that “life-changing announcement” tone that already makes your stomach twist. But when the professor starts reading out partner assignments for the capstone project, you tell yourself it can’t possibly be him.
Until she says his name. Paired with yours.
You blink. Then blink again. Surely, you misheard.
But when your eyes slide to the other side of the lecture hall, he’s already looking at you, or, more accurately, glaring at you.
Your chair screeches against the tile as you turn. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
It’s almost comical how predictable the universe can be.
You look up again, and there he is; sitting three rows over, posture perfect, that familiar bored-but-superior expression plastered across his face. His pen taps lazily against the edge of his notebook. When your eyes meet, he doesn’t even bother hiding the faint curl of his mouth.
A smirk.
Of course.
You sink lower in your chair, muttering under your breath, “There has to be a goddamn error.”
But when the professor finishes the list and adds, “Remember, your partner assignments are final,” it’s over. That’s it. Your academic death sentence.
The rest of the lecture blurs. You barely hear the reminders about deadlines or presentation milestones. Every time the professor says ‘teamwork’ you can practically feel Oscar’s invisible eye-roll from across the room.
When class ends, you start packing your bag fast enough to flee before he catches you, but you should’ve known he’d be faster.
“Running away already?”
You freeze, fingers clenched around your notebook. You turn, slow, forcing a polite smile that probably looks more like a grimace. “Just trying to preserve my sanity.”
He tucks his laptop under one arm, face infuriatingly calm. “I thought engineers were supposed to thrive under pressure.”
You scoff. “Funny, I thought engineers were supposed to have personalities.”
That earns a faint twitch of his mouth; amusement, you think, though he’d rather die than admit it. “So,” he says after a beat, “when do you want to start?”
“Start what?”
“Our slow descent into mutual suffering.”
You blink. “I’d rather free-fall, actually.”
“Great,” he says, already walking toward the door. “Tomorrow, then?”
You glare at his back. “I didn’t agree to-”
But he’s gone.
You’re still muttering to yourself when you reach the student lounge later that day. Half a rant, half an exorcism. “Out of two hundred people. Two hundred. And it had to be him.”
“Who had to be who?”
You look up. Lando’s draped over one of the couches, laptop open, headphones around his neck. His grin is the easy kind that says he’s been waiting to be entertained.
“Oscar,” you groan. “I got partnered with Oscar Piastri for the capstone.”
He whistles low. “Oof. The golden boy himself. Condolences.”
“I don’t need condolences, I need a new partner. Maybe divine intervention. A lightning strike would do.”
Lando snorts. “He’s not that bad once you get to know him.”
You stare at him like he’s just claimed the sky is green. “You’ve met him?”
“Yeah.” He shuts his laptop, leaning forward. “Bit quiet. Bit blunt. But he’s nice. Works hard.”
You groan louder. “Great. So he’s decent and a genius. My favourite kind of torture.”
He grins. “Sounds like you met your match.”
“Don’t even start,” you warn, pointing at him. “This isn’t some romantic comedy where enemies fall in love over rocket schematics.”
Lando raises his hands, mock-innocent. “Who said anything about love? I was thinking mutual destruction.”
You roll your eyes, gathering your notes. “I’ll destroy something, alright. Probably myself.”
He laughs, unbothered. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t kill each other before the first progress report.”
You’re halfway out the door when he calls after you, tone casual but a little too knowing. “He likes a challenge, you know.”
You don’t turn around. “Good. So do I”
You’re still fuming when you slide into your usual spot in the campus library the next day. Coffee, laptop, equations; your comfort zone. Except today, the seat across from you isn’t empty.
Oscar’s already there. Laptop open, notebook color-coded like it’s a NASA control manual.
“How the hell did you even know I come here?” you ask.
He doesn’t look up. “You talk too loud when you study. I’ve sat behind you in this café all semester.”
That’s… weirdly observant. And deeply unsettling. “Right. Stalker behavior noted.”
“Collaborative efficiency,” he corrects smoothly, finally glancing up. “Let’s just get through this so I can graduate and never have to deal with you again.”
You bite back a laugh. “Bold of you to assume you ever beat me at anything worth winning.”
He hums. A quiet sound that says ‘whatever helps you sleep at night’.
For the next hour, the only sound is the low hum of the aircon system and the occasional clack of keyboards. You keep your eyes on your work, determined not to give him the satisfaction of being right about anything. But he’s infuriatingly focused. Neat handwriting, clean calculations, the kind of precision that makes your own notes look chaotic.
He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t gloat. Just works. Which somehow makes it worse.
Finally, you sigh. “Okay, I’ll admit, the reusable launch design idea isn’t bad.”
He glances up, one brow raised. “Was that a compliment or a stroke?”
“Don’t push it.”
“Noted.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, quieter: “You could’ve picked anyone else to fight for top of the class, you know.”
You look up at him, surprised by the softness in his tone. It’s fleeting, gone almost instantly, replaced by that usual impassive calm.
“I didn’t pick you,” you say simply. “You just kept showing up.”
Later that night, you drop onto your bed, exhausted, half-laughing at how surreal the day felt. You hate that he’s good at this. You hate that he’s organized, logical, almost pleasant when he isn’t talking.
But mostly, you hate that you’re starting to think maybe, just maybe, you might actually work well together.
You’re halfway through drafting a follow-up email about project scheduling when your phone buzzes.
Unknown Number: Your derivation on the thrust equation was off by a decimal. Just a heads up.
You stare at it.
You: who is this?
Unknown Number: The guy who’s saving you from losing 0.5 marks.
You groan, typing back:
You: Of course you’d memorize my mistakes.
A moment later:
Oscar: Someone has to.
You toss your phone aside and fall back onto your pillow, glaring at the ceiling, mostly because your chest feels annoyingly warm.
He shouldn’t have texted you. He knows that.
But watching you squint at the simulation earlier, pencil between your teeth, muttering under your breath like the equations had personally wronged you, it had been… funny. Endearing, even.
He’d noticed the decimal mistake before he even packed up, and it was stupid not to tell you. So he texted.
Now he’s lying on his couch, Lando yelling at a game in the next room, and all he can think about is the look on your face when you’d said “You just kept showing up.”
Maybe he did. Maybe that’s what’s been driving him insane all along.
You’re already elbow-deep in simulation parameters when Oscar appears beside you, dropping his bag onto the desk like gravity doesn’t apply to him.
“You’re late,” you say without looking up.
“It’s 3:05”
“Exactly. We said 3:00”
He slides into the seat next to you. “I was getting us clearance to use the wind tunnel.”
You pause. “You got us what?”
He leans back, looking infuriatingly smug. “Professor signed off this morning. Figured we’d get better data if we run physical tests instead of just simulations.”
That’s… actually brilliant. You hate that it’s brilliant.
You exhale slowly. “Okay, fine. Good idea.”
He looks mock-stunned. “Was that, hold on, did you just agree with me?”
“Don’t get used to it.”
The wind tunnel room is colder than expected, fans humming softly while you both set up the small model you’ve been prototyping for weeks. It’s nothing flashy, just a 3D-printed body and a cluster of tiny winglets, but it’s yours.
Oscar handles it carefully, fingers steady, every motion precise. You try not to watch too closely.
“Switch on the main feed?” he asks.
You nod, stepping over to the console. “Ready.”
The tunnel roars to life, a rush of air that drowns out everything else. You lean in to adjust the readout, just as Oscar reaches for the same control.
There’s a sharp snap of static, then
“Ah shit!”
You jolt back, clutching your hand. The discharge wasn’t serious, just enough to sting, but your nerves fire anyway.
Oscar’s already beside you. “You alright?”
You blink at him. “It’s fine, I-”
“Let me see.” His voice is all focus now, the teasing gone. He catches your wrist before you can protest, turning your palm up. The skin’s pink where the static bit you, a small, harmless spark. His thumb brushes over the spot once, careful, checking.
It’s nothing. Absolutely nothing.
So why is your heart suddenly beating like a faulty engine?
“I’m fine,” you repeat, quieter this time.
He releases you slowly, gaze lingering for half a second too long before he steps back. “Should’ve grounded it first. My bad.”
“Yeah, yours,” you say, trying to sound annoyed but it comes out softer than intended. “Don’t electrocute your lab partner next time.”
“Noted,” he says, and the corner of his mouth twitches again; this time not smug, just small. Real.
You finish the test run in near silence, the tension between you replaced by something new, fragile.
By the end of the session, you’ve got pages of data and a headache you can’t quite blame on the noise.
When you start packing up, he speaks again, quieter. “You were right about the secondary flaps.”
You look up. “What?”
“They stabilized the airflow. Your math checked out.”
You blink, caught off guard. “Thanks.”
He nods, busying himself with his laptop. “Don’t get used to it.”
You smile without meaning to.
That night, your phone buzzes again.
Oscar: Good work today. You didn’t flinch when the tunnel jammed. Most people do.
You: Most people aren’t used to near-death experiences.
Oscar: Dramatic.
You: Engineer’s flair for storytelling.
A minute passes. Then:
Oscar: See you tomorrow, storyteller.
You stare at the screen a little too long before setting it down.
He shouldn’t have touched your hand. He knows that.
But for a second, the burn mark on your skin had felt like his fault. The instinct to fix it had been faster than logic.
Now, sitting on his couch, he scrolls through the photos from the test run. Graphs, airflow readings, none of which explain why his pulse still kicks up when he remembers the sound of your laugh under the tunnel noise.
He closes his laptop and tells himself it’s just relief. You didn’t get hurt. That’s all it is. Relief.
He doesn’t believe himself.
☘︎ ☘︎ ☘︎
If someone had told you two months ago that you’d voluntarily spend three nights a week in the lab with Oscar Piastri, you would’ve laughed in their face. Now, you’re the one waiting for him.
The lab’s empty except for the two of you, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Your simulation is nearly done rendering; you’ve been nursing the same mug of cold coffee for an hour, trying to stay awake enough to check the output graphs when they finish.
The door swings open, and Oscar walks in, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair slightly damp like he’s just showered. You refuse to notice that.
“You’re late,” you say, as always.
“You start every conversation that way,” he replies, tossing his backpack onto the counter. “It’s three minutes past. Not exactly criminal.”
You glare half-heartedly. “Time is thrust, Piastri.”
He snorts. “That’s the worst engineering joke ever. It doesn’t even make sense.”
“Neither do you,” you mutter, scrolling through the output window.
He sets his laptop down beside you, leaning close enough that his shoulder nearly brushes yours. “Did it work?”
“Maybe,” you answer, pretending your pulse didn’t just trip over itself. “We’ll see.”
The simulation finishes running a few minutes later, and you both lean in at the same time to look at the graph. His shoulder bumps yours. Neither of you move away.
Your airflow model isn’t just stable, it’s elegant. Smooth, controlled, efficient. You grin despite yourself. “We did it.”
Oscar’s smile, real and unguarded, hits you like turbulence. “You mean I did it?”
You elbow him, laughing. “Don’t push it.”
He laughs too, the sound soft and unfamiliar. It echoes off the metal surfaces, settling into the silence like it belongs there.
For once, you don’t mind the quiet.
A week later, your midterm marks are released.
You sit in the lecture hall surrounded by the low hum of other students checking scores, refreshing the portal, whispering.
Your heart sinks when you see the number. Ninety-three.
You glance sideways. Oscar’s screen glows faintly across the aisle. Ninety-four.
“Unbelievable,” you mutter.
He looks up instantly, already grinning. “Everything alright?”
“You’re insufferable,” you hiss.
He shrugs. “Can’t help being consistent.”
“You’re consistent at being annoying.”
“That too.”
You roll your eyes and shove your laptop into your bag, ignoring the smug little half-smile he’s wearing.
You hate how much you’ve come to recognize the shape of it.
That evening, you’re back in the lab, tapping your pen against the table in frustration. He walks in a few minutes later, looking confused. “You’re here early.”
“I had to do something productive before committing homicide.”
He drops his bag onto the chair beside you, raising an eyebrow. “Something tells me it has to do with the grades.”
“Congratulations, you beat me again. Shocking plot twist.”
“Hey,” he says, tone softer. “You still did great.”
You blink. “Did you just compliment me?”
He smirks faintly. “Don’t get used to it.”
You groan. “I take it back.”
“Too late.”
The banter lingers, but it feels different now, lighter. Like you’re both secretly relieved you can talk like this without it hurting anymore.
Later, while you’re both waiting for another simulation to run, Oscar leans back in his chair, eyes half-closed. “Do you ever stop thinking about work?”
You glance up from your notes. “Do you?”
He smiles, small and tired. “Touché.”
You study him for a moment. He looks almost… human like this. Not the unshakable perfectionist you’ve spent four years trying to beat, but a real person.
And the realization unsettles you more than you’d like to admit.
“Hey,” you say before you can stop yourself, “you should sleep. You look wrecked.”
He opens one eye. “You telling me I look bad?”
“I’m telling you to stop trying to impress me with your work ethic.”
He lets out a soft laugh. “Not trying to impress you.”
“Sure,” you say.
His expression shifts, a flicker of something unreadable passing through it. “If I wanted to impress you,” he says quietly, “you’d know.”
You don’t have an answer for that.
The only sound for a long time is the hum of the machines and the beating of your own pulse in your ears.
Again, he hadn’t meant to do that. He hadn’t meant to say it.
It just slipped out, too easy, too honest.
Now you’re sitting across from him pretending to focus on your notes, and he can’t stop replaying the look on your face, the flash of confusion, the faint hint of color rising in your cheeks.
He tells himself it’s just tension. You’re rivals. You’ve always been rivals.
That’s all this is.
It has to be.
But when you glance up and catch him looking, and you don’t look away right away, he’s not so sure anymore.
It starts with a forgotten jacket.
You’ve been running data sets in the lab long past midnight again. The air is thin with caffeine and fluorescent hum; even the janitor has stopped asking when you plan to leave.
When you finally power down the monitors and stretch, something dark is draped across the back of the chair beside you; Oscar’s jacket.
It’s soft when you pick it up, still faintly warm. You hesitate, torn between irritation and an ache you can’t name.
You should drop it off at the lost-and-found.
Instead, you fold it carefully over your arm and tell yourself you’ll give it to him tomorrow.
The next day he’s already at the workstation, hair slightly messy, eyes rimmed red from lack of sleep.
You hold up the jacket. “Forget something?”
He blinks, then smiles small, tired, real. “Guess I did.”
You toss it to him. “You’re welcome.”
He catches it easily, the sleeve brushing your wrist. “Didn’t think you’d bother bringing it.”
You shrug. “Wouldn’t want you freezing to death before the presentation. I need you alive for the Q&A.”
His grin widens. “You’re all heart.”
You turn back to your notes before he can see you smiling.
By the following week, you’ve both fallen into a rhythm that even the professor comments on.
“You two work frighteningly well together,” she says during a progress check. “Whatever rivalry you had, I hope you’ve bottled it. It’s clearly productive.”
You and Oscar exchange a glance. Half amusement, half panic.
After class, you mutter, “Did she just call us… compatible?”
“Professionally,” he answers quickly.
“Right. Professionally.”
Neither of you sound convinced.
Another late night: the two of you, an empty lab, and a cheap takeaway box of noodles balanced between laptops.
The model’s nearly complete now; all that’s left are flight-path optimizations and presentation visuals.
Oscar’s chewing absently on a chopstick, watching you trace equations across the whiteboard.
“You’re doing that thing again,” he says.
“What thing?”
“The pen-tapping. You only do it when you’re stuck.”
You stop mid-tap, frowning. “You notice that?”
He shrugs. “You’re loud.”
You laugh under your breath, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet here you are,” he says, quiet but teasing, like the words just slipped out.
The room feels smaller after that.
Sometime near two a.m., the printer jams. You groan, kneeling to unjam the feed, when Oscar crouches beside you to help.
The air between you goes still; the static of the machine hums against your ears.
You glance sideways just as he does, and for a heartbeat you’re inches apart.
He smells like coffee and ozone and something clean.
You both look away at the same time.
He clears his throat first. “So, uh… printer’s fixed.”
“Right. Great.”
Your voice sounds higher than usual.
He stands, scratching the back of his neck, and mutters something about double-checking the trajectory graphs.
You stay on the floor for a few seconds longer, trying to remember how to breathe.
He should go home. He should turn off the lights and stop replaying that almost-moment on loop.
But when you’d looked up at him, startled and soft, something had shifted. For the first time, the rivalry didn’t feel like a shield; it felt like an excuse. He’s not sure what to do with that.
Lando will probably notice, Lando notices everything, pbut for now Oscar just leans back in his chair, closes his eyes, and tells himself it’s nothing. Just a long night. Just a project partner.
He doesn’t believe that either.
The week before the mid-project review feels like one endless day stretched thin. The lab is a mess of open laptops and half-empty coffee cups; your model hums quietly on the test bench, waiting for another round of data runs.
You’re halfway through debugging a line of code when Oscar says, “We should stop for the night.”
You blink at the screen. “You? Suggesting a break? Are you sick?”
He leans back in his chair. “You’ve typed the same line three times. The computer’s starting to take pity on you.”
Before you can answer, a knock sounds on the glass door. Lando’s head pokes in, hair flattened from his helmet, a paper bag in one hand.
“Engineers,” he announces. “I bring offerings. Noodles and caffeine.”
You groan in relief. “Marry me.”
“Tempting, but I think your boyfriend would object,” he says, nodding at Oscar.
“He’s not-” you start, just as Oscar says, “We’re not-”
Lando smirks. “Sure, sure. Whatever.”
He drops the food on the counter and flops into an empty chair, watching the two of you eat. “You know, it’s kind of scary how synchronized you are now. You finish each other’s sentences. You even frown the same.”
You throw a napkin at him. “Go bother your real friends.”
“Can’t. You’re my entertainment,” he says, grinning. “Besides, Oscar hasn’t touched grass in a week. I’m making sure he still speaks human.”
Oscar’s mouth quirks. “Barely.”
Lando tilts his head toward you. “She’s good for that.”
For a heartbeat, you swear Oscar’s eyes flick to yours, softer than before. You look away first.
It’s almost eleven when you finally close the lab. Lando offers you both a ride, but you shake your head; your apartment’s only a ten-minute walk. Oscar says he’ll walk too.
Outside, the air is sharp and cold, streetlights turning the pavement silver. The two of you fall into step automatically.
“Lando’s right,” you say after a while. “You don’t go outside much.”
“I go to class.”
“That doesn’t count. Vitamin D exists for a reason.”
He glances sideways, a tiny smile playing at his mouth. “Worried about my health, are you?”
You snort. “Worried you’ll pass out mid-presentation and ruin my grade.”
“Always so selfless.”
You bump his shoulder with yours, lighter than a push. “You love it.”
He doesn’t answer, but his smile deepens, and the silence that follows feels easy.
By the time you reach your building, your fingers are stiff from the cold. You fish for your keys and look up to find him watching you.
“What?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just- good luck tomorrow.”
“You’ll be there too.”
“Still.”
You manage a small smile. “Night, Piastri.”
“Night.”
He waits until you’re inside before turning away.
He hadn’t planned to walk you home; it just happened.
He tells himself it’s the logical thing to do, same direction, same project, but logic has nothing to do with the way he kept glancing at you under the streetlights.
When he gets back to the apartment, Lando’s on the couch, half-asleep with the TV still playing.
“Did you two finally make out in a lab closet?” Lando mumbles without opening his eyes.
Oscar throws a pillow at him. “Go to sleep.”
“Deflection. Classic sign of denial.”
Oscar groans and heads for his room, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth he can’t quite suppress.
The mid-project review is supposed to be terrifying.
It isn’t.
You and Oscar stand side by side at the front of the lecture hall, slides queued, data clean, every question answered before the professors can finish asking it. You’re both sharp, fluent, in perfect rhythm.
When the committee finally nods their approval, you hear someone behind you whisper, “I swear they share a brain.”
You don’t know whether to be flattered or horrified.
Afterward, while you’re packing up your notes, Oscar nudges your elbow.
“Good job,” he says.
“You too,” you answer, then add, “Not that I expected anything less.”
“Obviously.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling.
Before you can say anything else, Lando bursts through the lecture hall doors.
“There you are! The dynamic duo! The aerospace power couple!”
You groan. “Oh, god.”
Oscar winces. “Please stop saying words.”
Lando ignores both of you, waving his phone. “Dinner. My treat. You’ve both been living off caffeine and spite, and I refuse to let that continue.”
You laugh. “Who’s paying?”
“Your favourite future golfer,” he says, like that explains everything. “Be ready in an hour. No excuses.”
The restaurant is loud, the kind of place with string lights and too many conversations happening at once. You show up first, scanning the crowd for Lando, and spot him waving from a back table.
“You made it!” he says, grinning. “Oscar’s getting the drinks.”
You slide into the seat across from him. “You didn’t tell me you two were that close.”
Lando shrugs. “We’ve known each other for ages. I figured you’d know since you’ve met him outside class before.”
“Not voluntarily.”
He laughs. “Fair. Still, he’s not so bad once you get past the resting deadpan face.”
Before you can reply, Oscar appears, balancing three glasses and looking mildly exasperated. “By the way it’s your turn to buy the groceries.”
“Tragic,” Lando says, grabbing his drink.
You blink between them. “Wait…You live together?”
Lando freezes mid-sip. Oscar groans quietly.
“Surprise?” Lando says, too cheerfully. “Roommates since second year. Didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“You’ve been roommates this whole time?” You gape. “So all those times I complained about him-”
“He heard,” Lando confirms, grinning. “Every word.”
You turn to Oscar. “And you didn’t say anything?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t need to. You were entertaining.”
You glare. “Unbelievable.”
Lando leans back, amused. “Told you he’s not as serious as he looks.”
Oscar mutters, “Don’t encourage her.”
“Oh, I’m encouraging this rela- friendship,” Lando says.
Dinner’s chaotic in the best way. Lando keeps the conversation moving, Oscar, despite himself, relaxes. You catch him laughing quietly at one of Lando’s stories, a rare sound, low and warm, and it catches you off guard.
When the food arrives, you all end up stealing bites from each other’s plates, arguing over which dish is better. Lando keeps throwing you looks like he’s trying not to smirk.
Halfway through dessert, he says, “So when’s the wedding?”
You and Oscar speak at the same time.
“We’re not-”
“Absolutely not-”
Lando raises his glass. “Sure you’re not.”
You throw a napkin at him. Oscar just shakes his head, but you can see the flush creeping up the back of his neck.
Lando stretches. “I’ll grab the car. You two can fight about who pays the tip.”
As he disappears down the street, you and Oscar sit awkwardly under the restaurant lights. You reach for your wallet. “I’ll cover it.”
“Don’t,” he says. “We invited you.”
“Still. You paid for coffee last time-”
“I said I’ve got it.” His tone is firm, but his eyes are soft.
You study him for a moment. “You’re really bad at letting people help you, huh?”
He exhales, half a laugh. “And you’re really bad at letting people take care of you.”
You stare at each other for a heartbeat too long before Lando’s car horn breaks the silence.
Oscar looks away first. “We should go.”
You nod, but your chest is still warm all the way back to the apartment drop-off.
When Lando starts driving away, Oscar is looking your way even when you disappear into the door.
He knows he’s staring too long, because Lando elbows him as he comes back.
“Subtle,” Lando mutters.
Oscar scowls. “Shut up.”
“Just saying. The way you look at her? Not exactly academic.”
Oscar doesn’t answer.
He’s too busy memorizing the sound of your laugh from earlier, the one that still hasn’t left his head.
The first time you go to their apartment, you tell yourself it’s strictly practical.
The campus labs are booked, the library is full, the coffee shop closes early, and Oscar says his place is quieter. That’s it. Pure efficiency.
You repeat that to yourself the whole walk over.
The building is one of those new complexes near the river, steel, glass, entirely too clean for student housing. When you knock, Lando opens the door, barefoot and holding a bowl of cereal.
“Hey, partner in crime,” he says. “Welcome to our humble adobe.”
You step inside. The living room is cluttered but lived-in; open textbooks on the coffee table, a model plane balanced on the windowsill, a blanket half-folded on the couch.
It smells faintly of coffee and lemon detergent.
“Where’s Oscar?” you ask.
“Lab,” Lando says. “He’s been there since morning. Said you were coming at seven, so I made sure the place didn’t look like a crime scene.”
You glance around. “You did good. Minimal evidence of bachelorhood.”
“Thanks, I even hid the pizza boxes. You want a drink?”
You shake your head. “If I start drinking before debugging code, I’ll crash the university servers.”
Lando laughs, studying you for a second longer than usual. “You know, he’s different when you’re around.”
You blink. “Different how?”
“Less… robot, more person. Kind of nice to watch.”
He grins when you roll your eyes. “I’m serious. Don’t tell him I said that, though… his ego’s fragile.”
You’re saved from replying by the click of the door.
Oscar steps inside, hair mussed, backpack slung over one shoulder. The moment he spots you, his expression softens automatically.
“Hey,” he says. “Sorry, lost track of time.”
“It’s fine,” you say. “Lando kept me entertained.”
“That’s dangerous,” Oscar mutters, dropping his bag.
Lando tosses him a glare. “Rude. I’ll be in my room. Try not to flirt too loudly; these walls are thin.”
You throw a cushion at him as he disappears down the hall.
You set up at the dining table. Oscar moves around the kitchen, filling the kettle, fetching mugs without asking how you take your coffee. He just knows.
When he slides one across to you, you blink. “How did you…”
He shrugs, sitting across from you. “You order it every time.”
You stare at him. “You really do notice everything.”
He shrugs, eyes on his notes. “Occupational hazard.”
The night stretches comfortably after that. Equations, quiet conversation, music low in the background.
You fall into rhythm: he runs simulations, you annotate data, he gestures mid-sentence, you finish his thought before he does.
At some point, the conversation drifts.
“So why aerospace?” he asks without looking up.
You glance at him. “Because I am good at physics and wanted to build things that actually leave the ground. Why else?”
He nods. “Same.”
“You don’t strike me as a ‘same’ person,” you say lightly.
He smiles faintly. “Maybe I used to be.”
There’s something in his tone, wistful almost, but before you can ask, Lando’s voice floats from the hallway.
“Anyone hungry? I’ve got leftover pizza.”
You look at Oscar. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
He chuckles, low and warm. “I was hoping you’d finish the data first.”
By midnight, the code’s done and the pizza’s gone. Lando’s asleep on the couch, TV flickering.
You’re packing up when Oscar stops you.
“Hey,” he says quietly, “you can leave that. I’ll drop it off tomorrow.”
“It’s fine, I’ve got it.”
He hesitates, then: “You don’t have to rush off.”
You turn back. He’s leaning against the counter, tired but smiling, it’s small, genuine, a little uncertain.
“I’ve got an early class,” you lie.
“Right,” he says, nodding once. “Thanks for coming.”
You nod back, but your pulse is loud in your ears all the way home.
After the door clicks shut, he just stands there.
The apartment feels different now. Too quiet, like the air’s waiting for something to happen.
He glances at the half-empty mug you left on the table, coffee rings staining the inside. Lando’s voice drifts sleepily from the couch. “You’re done for, mate.”
Oscar sighs. “Go to sleep.”
Lando just laughs.
Oscar doesn’t ask what that means. He just smiles, shakes his head, and starts cleaning up.
☘︎ ☘︎ ☘︎
Lando’s text comes in at 5 p.m. sharp:
party tonight. mandatory. no excuses.
You stare at it for a full minute before replying.
since when are parties mandatory?
His response is instant.
since u two stopped speaking in full sentences. ur both depressing me.
You sigh. He’s not wrong.
The apartment looks nothing like it did the night you came over to work.
Fairy lights stretch across the ceiling, music hums through the walls, and someone has already spilled beer on the entryway rug. The place smells like lime, vodka, and the faint singe of a candle burning too close to a stack of paper cups.
Lando greets you with a loud cheer and a plastic cup.
“See? You can leave the lab!”
“Don’t sound so shocked,” you say, laughing. “Where are the drinks?”
“Over there. Next to your favourite lab partner.”
You follow his gaze.
Oscar’s in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, talking to a couple of students from your shared course. He looks relaxed in a way you’ve never seen; sleeves rolled, head tilted back, eyes creased at the corners. It shouldn’t make your stomach twist.
Lando leans closer. “Try not to fight him for at least an hour.”
You roll your eyes. “I’ll aim for forty-five minutes.”
You spend the first half-hour mingling and laughing at bad engineering jokes, trying not to glance at the kitchen too often.
When you finally look up again, Oscar’s watching you.
Noticing it, he gives a small wave, half a smile. You pretend you didn’t see.
“Hey, stranger.”
You turn to find a tall guy, from a course you took in your second year, grinning at you. “Didn’t expect to see you here. You always look like you’re on a mission.”
You laugh. “And you always look like you’re avoiding work.”
He grins wider. “Guilty. You clean up nice, though. Didn’t think engineers owned clothes that weren’t covered in coffee stains.”
“Bold of you to assume this isn’t a coffee stain,” you say, gesturing to your top.
He laughs easy, warm and somehow ends up standing closer. “Seriously, though. You look great.”
It’s harmless. Flattering, even. You’re about to answer when a voice cuts in behind you.
“You’re gonna occupy her all night, or can the rest of us talk to her too?”
The silence stretches. The other student mutters something about getting another drink and disappears.
You cross your arms. “That was unnecessary.”
He turns to you. “He was an idiot.”
“He was talking.”
“I know,” he says quickly, quieter now. “I just didn’t like it.”
You open your mouth to argue, but Lando’s voice cuts through the noise: “Group photo! Everybody, kitchen!”
Oscar steps back, grateful for the interruption. You follow him out into the cool night air, half annoyed, half confused.
An hour later, the crowd thins. Music fades into background noise. You find yourself on the balcony, cool air biting your cheeks.
Behind you, the door slides open.
Oscar stands beside you, not quite meeting your eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have said anything back there.”
“You think?” you mutter, but the edge is gone.
“I just-” He exhales. “You look nice tonight.”
You blink, caught off guard. “What?”
He shrugs, still not looking at you. “That’s all. You look nice.”
You blink, stunned into silence. For a second, neither of you moves.
Then Lando sticks his head through the door. “You two coming back in, or should I start charging rent for the balcony?”
You mutter something about needing air, and Oscar steps aside to let you pass.
Two days after the party, neither of you has said a word that isn’t about the project.
You meet at the library out of habit, not desire. The air between you is sharp enough to cut.
You sit across from him, stirring your coffee long after the sugar’s dissolved. “We need to finish the presentation outline today.”
He nods without looking up. “I sent you the structure last night.”
“I saw it. You changed my section again.”
“It didn’t make sense the way it was.”
You laugh. Quietly but sharp. “God forbid something doesn’t fit your perfect design.”
He glances up. “That’s not what this is.”
“Really? Because it feels like you’re rewriting everything I touch.”
“Maybe I’m trying to make sure we don’t fail,” he says, too loud, and a few heads turn.
You lean forward, voice low. “You think I’d let us fail?”
“No,” he says, softer now, frustrated. “I think you drive yourself until you break, and I keep letting you.”
That stops you. For a second, neither of you moves.
Then you shake your head. “You don’t get to act like you know me.”
“I do know you,” he says quietly. “Better than anyone.”
You stand, gathering your notes. “You really don’t.”
You turn to leave, but his chair scrapes back and suddenly he’s beside you, blocking your path. “Wait.”
“Move, Oscar.”
“Not until you listen.”
The library is already empty and hence quiet, but even the hum of electricity fades under the steady sound of his breathing.
“I screwed up,” he says. “At the party, with the project, with everything. I just-” He exhales hard. “Every time you look at someone else, it feels like I’m losing something I don’t even have.”
You freeze. “You’re jealous? That’s your excuse?”
He shakes his head. “It’s not an excuse. It’s the truth.”
And then he’s closer, too close. You can feel the warmth of him, the anger and the ache tangled up together.
“Don’t,” you whisper, but you don’t step back.
He hesitates only a second before he leans in. The kiss lands hard, desperate, more argument than affection.
Your notebook slips from your hand and hits the floor with a dull thud.
For a heartbeat, the world narrows to the press of his mouth and the taste of coffee and adrenaline.
Then you pull away, breathless.
“That’s not how you fix things,” you say, voice shaking.
“I know,” he murmurs. “But I didn’t know how else to make you hear me.”
You stare at him or rather at the apology hiding in his eyes, at the frustration still simmering underneath.
“I hear you,” you say finally. “I just don’t trust it.”
You grab your bag, step around him, and walk out into the cold evening air.
He doesn’t follow this time.
He stands in the doorway long after you’ve gone, the bell above the café door still trembling. The taste of the kiss lingers tasting like coffee and regret.
For the first time, he isn’t sure if what he wants and what’s right are the same thing.
The night before the presentation, the apartment is silent except for the faint hum of Lando’s gaming monitor and the rhythmic clack of keys from Oscar’s room.
When the door creaks open, Lando swivels his chair.
“You still alive?”
Oscar’s leaning against the frame, hoodie half-zipped, eyes ringed with exhaustion. “Define alive.”
“Eating?”
He shrugs.
“Sleeping?”
Another shrug.
Lando sighs. “You know, normal people celebrate finishing a capstone by sleeping or drinking, not by brooding like a tragic hero.”
Oscar rubs his eyes. “She hasn’t answered my messages.”
“Maybe she needs space.”
“I gave her space,” he mutters. “She used it to delete half our shared folder.” Oscar drops onto the couch, elbows on knees. “I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Start with showing up tomorrow,” Lando says simply. “Do the presentation. Remind her why she ever put up with you in the first place.”
“She hates me.”
“She kissed you.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Lando stands, pats his shoulder. “Sure. But if she really hated you, she’d have let the rocket crash.”
Oscar lets out a short, helpless laugh. “You have a strange way of comforting people.”
“Works every time,” Lando says, heading for the kitchen. “Now get some sleep, lover boy. You’ve got a thesis to ace.”
The next morning, the sky is pale and cold.
You wake up early, nerves twisting tight in your stomach. The last message on your phone is still from him “I’m sorry” read and unanswered.
You almost delete it, then don’t.
At the auditorium, you take the seat farthest from him while the other teams present. You can feel him even without looking; his restless fingers tapping against the table, the faint scrape of his shoe on the floor.
When your names are called, you stand together automatically. Four years of rivalry, many months of partnership, and one badly-timed kiss have trained you to move in sync whether you like it or not.
The lights are hot, the air tastes like nerves.
Oscar opens the talk. His voice is steady, precise, every number crisp. You handle the design analysis, your slides sliding perfectly into his cadence.
From the audience, it looks effortless. To you, it feels like walking a tightrope.
When your hand trembles clicking through the trajectory graph, he shifts the pointer for you, silent coordination born of endless late nights.
Your eyes meet once; brief, electric and then you both look away.
Halfway through, the professor interrupts with a question on thrust efficiency. Oscar answers, then turns the explanation to you without missing a beat.
You pick it up seamlessly.
For ten glorious minutes, the tension dissolves into the work itself.
Applause breaks the spell.
The professor smiles. “Outstanding collaboration. You two operate like a single mind.”
You both thank her at the same time, which only makes the professor chuckle.
You busy yourself with closing the laptop, avoiding his gaze.
“That went well,” he says quietly.
You nod. “Yeah.”
“I meant what I said. About being proud of you.”
You freeze. “You didn’t say that.”
“I’m saying it now.”
The words hit harder than they should. You focus on wrapping the cable, pretending your hands aren’t shaking. “We should hand this in to the prof before she leaves.”
“Right.” He exhales, frustrated. “Can we at least talk after?”
“About what?”
“About us.”
“There is no ‘us,’ Oscar.”
The way he flinches makes you instantly regret it, but the damage is done.
He starts to speak, but Lando bursts in, oblivious. “You two were insane up there.”
“Thanks,” you say quickly, grateful for the interruption.
Lando grins between you, completely missing the undercurrent. “Drinks tonight? My treat.”
“I have plans,” you lie.
Oscar’s jaw tightens. “Same.”
Lando looks from one of you to the other, reading the silence for the first time. “Right. Cool. I’ll just…not invite you both to the same bar then.”
He leaves, muttering something about emotional geniuses.
You start turn to leave as well, not being able to stand the awkwardness.
“Wait,” he calls. “Please.”
“I know I keep messing this up,” he says, breath clouding in the cold. “I’m trying not to.”
“You think that fixes it?”
“No. But it’s the truth.”
You look at him, really look. The exhaustion, the sincerity, the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you and doesn’t.
“You did great today,” you whisper.
“Don’t change the topic.”
You both stand there, still as the gray sky above.
Then he takes one small step closer.
“Tell me what to do,” he says softly. “Tell me how to stop wanting this to work.”
You shake your head. “I can’t tell you that.”
He nods once, accepting it, and for the first time you see how much that hurts him.
You turn away, and he lets you go.
He watches until you disappear around the corner, rain starting to fall outside.
Lando appears a few minutes later with two coffees and the expression of someone who knew this would happen.
“She left?”
Oscar nods.
Lando hands him a cup. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
Oscar stares at the street. “Not this time.”
“Then let her miss you a little,” Lando says. “Sometimes that’s how people come back.”
Oscar doesn’t answer.
He just stands there in the rain, coffee cooling in his hand, trying to believe him.
Two weeks pass after the presentation.
The grades go up. You both get A’s, naturally. The professors send polite congratulations. Group chats fill with internship offers, graduation photos, plans that have nothing to do with late night study sessions and the person you still can’t stop thinking about.
You tell yourself it’s relief, not loss. That the silence between you is closure, not absence.
But when you walk past the engineering building one evening and see the lights still glowing in the lab, your chest tightens the way it used to before an exam.
You don’t go in. Not yet.
Oscar notices the quiet first. It’s too easy to measure the day by your voice, the off-handed comments, the small sighs between calculations. Now that you’re gone, everything sounds wrong.
Lando keeps trying to drag him out. “Come on, she’s not a ghost, mate. You’re allowed to have a life.”
“I have one,” Oscar says, eyes still on his screen.
“Playstation at midnight doesn’t count.” Lando pauses, studying him. “You know she came back and looked for you after she left on presentation day, right? Walked around campus in the rain for like twenty minutes before giving up.”
Oscar looks up, startled. “What?”
“She didn’t find you. Maybe that’s on purpose. Maybe not.”
Lando shrugs. “Either way, you could fix it.”
Oscar doesn’t reply, but that night, he leaves the apartment for the first time in days.
It’s late, past midnight, when you finally go back to the riverwalk. The city hums softly across the water, the air thick with the smell of rain.
You’ve come here before, during exams, whenever your head got too loud. You never expected him to remember that.
So when you hear footsteps and look up to see him there, hands in his pockets, same navy jacket, hair damp from the drizzle, your heart stumbles.
“Hi,” he says, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“Hi.”
Neither of you moves closer. The bridge lights flicker, reflected in the water below.
“I was kind of hoping you’d come,” you say finally.
“I was kind of hoping you’d be here.”
A small, awkward smile. “Guess we’re still in sync.”
The quiet stretches, not uncomfortable yet, just fragile.
“I got your text,” you say after a beat. “The one you sent before the presentation.”
“I figured you did.”
“I didn’t answer.”
“I noticed.”
He huffs a laugh, faint but real, then looks away. “I meant what I said, that I’m proud of you. I should’ve said it sooner.”
Something inside you eases at the honesty in his voice.
“I wasn’t exactly easy to work with either,” you admit.
He shakes his head. “You were brilliant. I was just-” He breaks off, searching for the right word. “Scared, maybe. That if I let you in, I’d lose the part of me that’s good at this.”
You frown. “That’s not how it works.”
“I know that now.” He looks at you then, properly, eyes tired, open. “You make me want to be better. Not at engineering, just…better.”
The words hit with a quiet, yet powerful force.
You don’t realize you’re crying until the wind catches one of the tears.
“Damn you,” you whisper, half laughing. “You always have to win, don’t you?”
He takes a step closer. “Not this time.”
When he reaches for you, it’s tentative, like he’s giving you every chance to step away. You don’t.
The kiss is nothing like the one in the library; no anger, no panic, just a slow, aching relief.
It feels like exhaling after holding your breath too long.
When you pull back, you’re both smiling, shaky and unsure.
“So what now?” you ask softly.
He glances toward the water. “Now? We start over. Maybe not with equations.”
You laugh, the sound small but real. “That’s the least efficient plan you’ve ever made.”
“Then it’s perfect,” he says.
The rain starts again, light and cool, and for once neither of you runs.
Later, walking you home through the quiet streets, he realizes the strangest thing: It isn’t competition that kept him chasing you all these years. It’s gravity. And now that you’ve finally stopped pushing back, he doesn’t feel like he’s falling anymore. He feels like he’s landed.
☘︎ ☘︎ ☘︎
A couple months later, sunday morning sunlight spills across the couch, dust turning gold in the air. The apartment smells like coffee and toast and something burning slightly in the toaster because Oscar insisted he could “multitask.”
You’re sprawled across the couch with a book, one leg hooked over the armrest, wearing the sweatshirt he swore he lost last week. From the kitchen, he calls, “You could help, you know.”
“I could,” you say, not looking up. “But you said you had it under control.”
There’s a beat of silence, then a quiet, “...I might’ve lied.”
You grin into your book. “Shocking.”
He appears a moment later with two mugs and a plate of slightly over-toasted bread, setting them on the table. “Don’t start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
You finally look up. “You can read my mind now?”
“I don’t have to. Your face says, ‘I told you so,’ every three seconds.”
You shrug, sipping your coffee. “It’s part of my charm.”
“Charm,” he echoes dryly. “That’s what we’re calling it?”
You lean back, smirking. “You moved in anyway.”
He sits beside you, nudging your knee with his. “Questionable life choice.”
“Big talk from someone who’s using my favorite mug.”
He holds it up, unbothered. “Joint custody. Like the coffee machine.”
“That’s different. You nearly set it on fire.”
“You’re never letting that go, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
He laughs, and it’s that quiet, genuine sound that still makes your chest ache a little. You catch him watching you; not in that heavy, can’t-breathe way from before, but softly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“What?” you ask.
He shrugs. “You just look happy.”
“I am,” you admit. “Terrified, but happy.”
“Same.”
A pause.
Then, almost teasing: “Don’t tell Lando. He’ll say he called it.”
You snort. “He did call it.”
“Still doesn’t need the satisfaction.”
You grin, leaning your head against his shoulder. “You realize this is the longest we’ve gone without arguing?”
“Don’t jinx it,” he says, slipping an arm around you. “I give it ten minutes.”
You hum. “Five.”
“Competitive as ever.”
“Wouldn’t be us otherwise.”
He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “No, it wouldn’t.”
Outside, the city moves quietly; traffic low, sky soft and pale. Inside, the two of you sit tangled on the couch, coffee cooling, sunlight fading, and for once, neither of you is trying to win.
He tilts his head just enough to catch your eye, the corner of his mouth lifting.
Before you can ask what he’s thinking, he leans in and kisses you. Slow, certain, the kind of kiss that doesn’t ask for anything, just fits.
When he pulls back, he stays close enough for his words to brush your skin.
“You know,” he murmurs, “for someone I spent years claiming to hate… I don’t think I ever stood a chance.”
Summary: you and oscar have been ballet rivals for as long as you can remember; you hate him, he hates you but you both happen to get cast as the lead roles in romeo and juliet …
Author’s note: im so swamped with assignments rn i barely even had time to make this smau so no written fics for now sorry !
even if you know nothing about ballet pleaseeee watch THIS pas de deux from romeo and juliet ! it’s one of my favs plus it gives you an idea of what oscar & reader are working on
youruser
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youruser rehearsals rehearsals rehearsals !
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yourbff break a leg (literally)
youruser kys
user1 good luck
lilymhe you’re def getting the part!!! #thebest
youruser thank you babe
oscarpiastri she won’t hope this helps
balletfriend you got this TRUST
lando i hope you get juliet! …and oscar gets romeo 🥰
oscarpiastri i’d rather choke
youruser i’d rather gouge my eyes out… with a fucking fork
oscarpiastri
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oscarpiastri thrilled to be cast as the lead for royalballetandopera’s production of romeo and juliet this season
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logansargeant congrats mate that’s mega
lando AND YN GOT JULIET THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE
yourbsf our ship is sailing
youruser yourbsf ??????
oscarpiastri yourbsf ??????
youruser must’ve been a very generous casting committee.
oscarpiastri you were literally selected by the same fucking committee
youruser wait…
oscarpiastri whatever… you’ll thank them when you don’t have to trust anyone else to lift you
lando 👀
royalballetandopera our pleasure to have you
royalballetandopera
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royalballetandopera The Royal Ballet welcomes our newest duo oscarpiastri and youruser as the leads in this season’s Romeo & Juliet! ✨Rehearsals have begun. We can’t wait to see the chemistry unfold on stage. 🩰❤️ #RomeoAndJuliet #RoyalBallet #NewSeason
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yourbsf enemies to lovers
lando even the official royal ballet account ships it
oscarpiastri what chemistry… we were literally fighting the entire time
youruser and you were wrong btw
oscarpiastri you literally hit me with your leg
youruser that was intentional
alex_albon who knew oscar could be so romantic 🥹
oscarpiastri you’re just projecting
user2 omg the tension is real 😭 they’re totally gonna fall in love
lando i bet you they already are
youruser tf ?
user3 these two are giving romeo and juliet but like… if juliet threatened to kill him during warmups
youruser inaccurate, i threatened him after warmups 💋
oscarpiastri can confirm unfortunately
youruser
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youruser i can’t believe he hasn’t dropped me yet
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oscarpiastri i seriously can’t believe you drink black coffee trying to be mysterious and shit
youruser you literally begged for OAT MILK in your MATCHA
lando YOU WENT ON A COFFEE DATE????
user4 rivals sharing coffee is craaaazy
yourbsf they’ll be soon sharing more than coffee … 😏
oscarpiastri yourbsf delete this
youruser oscarpiastri no
oscarpiastri
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oscarpiastri someone said we’re getting along now… don’t spread rumours
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youruser you took a picture of me sleeping?? stalker much…
oscarpiastri documentation for HR
user5 they bicker all the time but look like a couple
yourbsf that’s why they’re meant to be
user5 frrrr
youruser i hate everyone in these comments
oscarpiastri same tbh
youruser
Liked by nicolepiastri, loganseargent, kimi.antonelli, royalballetandopera and others
youruser happy birthday to my least favorite pas de deux partner (yes i baked it no you can’t complain)
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oscarpiastri it’s actually good. i’m concerned.
youruser don’t get used to it.
nicolepiastri this is so domesticated of you
oscarpiastri MOM????
lando way to go mrs piastri !!!
royalballetandopera true love in a bday cake 🎂
oscarpiastri liked this comment
youruser blocked.
royalballetandopera
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royalballetandopera Rehearsals are coming to an end. Witness the new generation take on the timeless tragedy. (+ some behind the scenes)
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lando OH DONT PLAY WITH ME RN!!! that last photo!!!!!!!!!!!!!
yourbsf the lovebirds have some explaining to do
youruser they had to chose THE ONE photo i look bad in
oscarpiastri i don’t think you could ever look bad in a photo
youruser oh
hattiepiastri imagine getting paid to spend time with your crush
oscarpiastri ????????????
user6 did they not use to argue all the time?
yourbsf they’ve been arguing since age 8 it’s long story tbh
royalballetandopera love manifests in mysterious ways ❤️
royalballetandopera
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royalballetandopera A breathtaking debut. Congratulations to our new Romeo & Juliet - oscarpiastri & youruser
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youruser thanks oscarpiastri for not dropping me 😇
oscarpiastri you’re welcome mostly because there were witnesses
lando SHE HUGGED HIM GUYS SHE HUGGED HIM
yourbsf EEK I FEEL LIKE A PROUD MOTHER
nicolepiastri chemistry off the charts
oscarpiastri and youruser liked this comment
royalballetandopera we’ll be accepting fanfiction submissions shortly
oscarpiastri
♫ Lover, You Should’ve Come Over — Jeff Buckley
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